#now that I know they're ~spoken for~ this is only going to make it worse for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreadsuitsamus · 2 days

Text

cw: smoking, choso x reader

i was just thinking about my first kiss and how it was with somebody i now hate and wish i never met. this kiss itself was short and nothing about the buildup was special or sweet or anything. it was a nothing kiss, and even back then i knew it wasn't good. and then i got to thinking about being at a gathering with some friends, choso being one of them, and one conversation leading to another until you're all telling stories about your first kiss.

it's your turn to go, and when you grimace rather than fondly reminisce like the others had, everyone notes it. "mine sucked." your answer, miniscule and somehow giving all the details, is quickly accepted and the focus is turned to the next in the circle.

choso's blushing, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose dusted pink, and he doesn't meet anybody's eyes as he explains his first kiss. it was an accident, they hadn't meant to kiss at all, but some mixed signals and coincidental body language led them straight to it. it was nice during, though terribly awkward after the fact.

you can't help but use your friend's embarrassment to ease your spirits and laugh with the rest of the group. playfully bumping your shoulder to his, you giggle. "noted. don't ever try to open a door for you."

choso groans and covers his face, falling onto his back while your friends get another laugh going. leaning on your forearm as the next story gets going, you poke at choso's hands that still hide his handsome blush. "ease up, cho. it's not that bad."

"it was pretty bad." he mumbles, peeking through his fingers at you.

looking away from those pretty eyes, you pick at his sweater. "couldn't be any worse than mine. at least the person you kissed really liked you."

choso sighs softly and his hands come down from his face. his fingers graze your chin and jaw as he encourages you to look at him again. not needing a ton of convincing, you're met with almost sad amber eyes. "it was with him, wasn't it?"

nodding, you look away again and choso sits back up. him. none of your friends use his name, ever, but you all know exactly who they're talking about when they say that. you're grateful he isn't spoken of much and that there's no love for one of their former friends remaining, but the scars on your heart and perhaps even to your soul remain. you'll never forget that ex. how could you? you gave him your all.

"i'm gonna go get some air." you announce after a while, and choso ends up following you to the back porch after a moment. it's cold and dark out, the light by the door only illuminating but so much with that old bulb.

he sits beside you, his ass thoroughly chilled already by the concrete steps. tugging a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he feels around for his lighter. he almost starts to panic, but your laughter has his eyes narrowing with an unimpressed glower. "very funny. give me my lighter back."

ignoring his murmur of "how did you even get it from my pocket? when??" once you've given it back and allowed him to light the cigarette, you rest your cheek against your fist with a slump in your shoulders. choso's hand rests on your back and he soothingly rubs at it, doing his best to ease you. "hey, relax. there's gonna be other first kisses."

"they're not gonna make me forget the first one, though."

"okay sure, you won't forget. nobody forgets the first. but... there's gonna be a better first. one that's good, one that will make you smile and happy to think about even if the relationship never pans out. and that can be your first good kiss story. nobody's gotta know the difference."

"i haven't even kissed anybody since him." you murmur quietly. it's been a couple years since that disaster went to the wayside, but you haven't found anyone you're willing to take another plunge with yet.

choso sets the cigarette down beside him, his long fingers touching your jaw once more. this time, though, he leans in and presses his cold lips to yours. he tastes like cigarettes initially, but when your arms come around his neck and it deepens, there's a sweetness there that you can only equate to freshly-picked strawberries.

"there," choso's eyes are still closed when you part, and your foreheads press together. he can't see the way you look at him, with admiration and adoration and nothing but pure love, but he can feel it. "your first good kiss. and with somebody that really does like you."

"cho..." your lips tingle as he checks the time on his watch. the hour ticks to midnight, and he kisses you a second time. this one is longer, sweet as a stolen peach and even better than the last, if it's possible. you're light as air and it's those big arms of your longtime friend that keeps you from floating off into space.

there's a bit of a squelch when you part this time, heavy breaths mixed together as your lungs burn. licking those reddened, kiss-swollen lips, choso pulls back and picks up his burning cigarette. "and that's your first kiss of today. and i'll kiss you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. you'll never have a bad first kiss again, as long as i can help it."

biting your lip through a grin that would reveal all your true feelings to him, you tuck your chilly hands into your sweater sleeves and stand up to head inside. "thanks, cho... um..."

choso stands tall, his hand finding your hip as he plants another kiss onto your lips. "your first good kiss standing up?" his lame explanation is accepted, and you cup his sharp jaw in your hands as you resume the smooch.

once you're back in the house and warming up, choso flicks the cigarette butt and lights another. there's so many firsts he's got to cover! the first in your room, your car, before you go to work and after, and of course every day of every week, month and year... everyone remembers their first, and he intends to be all you can think of the next time somebody asks about your first kiss.

#choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk imagine #jjk x you #jjk x reader #x reader #reader insert #jjk fluff #choso fluff

32 notes · View notes

earanie · 7 months

Text

#good news first: it's a sunny day! yay!#and it's also Friday!#and we've got a hearing this morning AND then we're going to another courthouse which is supposedly very pretty!#now the mid news: I'm gonna spend all day with *them*#which I am inordinately happy about #but also #now that I know they're ~spoken for~ this is only going to make it worse for me #like I don't look forward to deepening this crush at this point in my life #should I also add that I've barely slept?#like I was dead tired got home past 10 pm #and then couldn't fall asleep until 2 am #bc I kept thinking about it all #(and blasting music in my ears)#where is the bad news you ask?#here ya go #first of all I'm even more nauseated now that I've got this new piece of info #(which at least somehow has the merit of corroborating my theory that it's all psychological/stress/etc)#second of all I'm hyper mad at myself for crushing so hard on a near stranger #and I've got a whole different kind of stomach ache every time I think about yesterday #and how it came out that they've got a girlfriend #third of all I've got no idea what to wear today bc I feel like I've run out of outfits this week?

2 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 10 months

Text

Yan arena beasts/fighters + handler reader. Reader is an average human working at a zoo/shelters abducted and thrown into a life of caring for a galactic tyrant's playthings due to their experience with animals. Not an idea choice for the job, but with everyone who's had the job before being maimed, killed, or worse they were running out of options. Reader does the best with what they're given. They find solitude with the other captives to an extent and some of the more feral creatures remind them of stray cats and dogs they knew back home. They treat those who allow as those same poor creatures out of habit and to cope with their new life. Others are so aggressive they have to be blindfold and sedated to even get close. Reader still tries to comfort them despite the many scratches and bites they receive

A little mix up happens where a warrior meant to fight the big bad of the area had already been slain by the beast. With no alternative, reader gets sent out instead as sacrifice to appease the blood hungry masses. They cower in the corner as the beast's mask is removed, praying their battered body at least gets shipped home so they have a proper burial and their family has some clue to what happened to them. They cast their small dagger away still unable to defend themselves against what they only see as a frightened animal protecting its own skin. The beast lifts them off the ground like a ragdoll holding them high for the crowd to see as its fangs draw from its scarred lips - breaking the band around its wrist that would seal reader's victory.

The beast ties the rope around reader's neck as the announcer declares them victor by default. The crowd boos, but as the beast snaps the neck of one of the guards and throws the limb body into the arena their demands are met. Reader quakes from the sheer disbelief of the whole ordeal, and still being trapped in the beast's arms as it coos. It takes over a dozen guards to get them to separate the two. They try again with another beast reader has care for and the same thing happens. Watching the live footage closely it's clear to experts the skilled fighters allow themselves to get injured to be coddled and tended to by reader. When rations are given they try to feed reader a share of their meals. The number of casualties skyrocket when reader's taken away or new caretakers are introduced. The beasts demand their head pats and ear scratches for their winnings and they want it from one source alone.

The emperor is quite amused by this revelation. It perfectly masks his paranoia in the case of his pets rising against him for whatever reason and choosing the earthling as their new overlord which few have spoken of in whispers. He's torn between killing them to null his fears and befriending them to puppeteer his pets craftfully from the shadows. He decides on the latter since getting rid of them would only anger his pets. That and it would be so easy to trick the human with his charms. Few can resist the words and body of a king, after all.

"Y/n, darling, it's so good to see you! So glad you could make it. How have things been, hm?"

"I'd like to go home, please."

"Hahaha! Oh, you're so cute with your little jokes! You may enjoy your meal in due time, but I have a favor to ask of you from a friend to a king. In the case of I don't know - my pets slaughtering my entire legion and storming my castle walls to behead me and crown you ruler - would you pretty please ask them to - not do that?"

"That....sounds like it would be out of my hands."

"Right. Changing subject, you are aware I have been topless this whole conversation and my bed is right behind me. Why haven't you attempted to have your way with me by now? Not saying you could - but you can always try."

The emperor upgrades their room to one right next to his, but they hardly sleep there favoring their time caring for the others and because they'd rather stay there than see him in a state of undress on their mattress. The emperor mimics the cooing that gets wounded beasts extra smothering from their handler, but reader mostly ignores him. He grows jealous seeing them fast asleep in a cell kept warm by the body heat of the battle scarred creatures around them. He's been scarred by attempted assassinations in the past - why doesn't he get cuddles too? Combats this jealously by making a royal decree that reader has to sit with him during every battle and on his lap if they wish to stay out of his sight afterwards. Requests for reader's fredom and hand in marriage and when a champion is chosen are banned almost immediately.

#yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere emperor #yandere harem

3K notes · View notes

going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 22 days

Text

Riding a Vaquero. || Alejandro Vargas

Rating: E Words: 2.4K~ Pairing: Alejandro x F!Reader CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. crack + smut, piv (protected), oral sex (m!receiving), throat fucking, cumming (f! and m!), swallowing cum, praise? ('that's it'), Spanish terms of endearment (nena, mamacita, vaquerita + caballito). other tags: crack, one night stand, dating app, flirting, roasting/mockery/slander of Alejandro. summary: You meet Alejandro on a dating app. Despite roasting the crap out of him he still lets you ride him :) a/n: Inspired by my "It's a Match!" fic... but very loosely and also it's so much fucking worse. + Thank you to @loveandplanet for helping me write this because I was struggling, my goodness.

Friday night. 5:30 PM.

You just got home from work and threw yourself on the couch before even making yourself dinner.

You're tired and bored and sort of... lonely.

The perfect cocktail of emotions to make you dip a toe back into the dark, cesspool of a lake that is the only dating app you keep on your phone: Tinder.

Slowly, you begin swiping away on the pictures of men on your screen.

Most of them are gym bros, there's a few nerds... You're pretty sure they're great, they seem it, you're sure they'd offer wonderful company and conversation over a quick meal...

But for the sake of what you're looking for, they might as well have a sign stamped on their face reading "[ Boring ]".

Boring. Boring. Boring.

That's when you see him.

Alejandro.

A handsome man, older, with crow's feet, and deep laugh lines, and a broad nose, and a bit of grey already creeping onto his beard... or maybe it's just the lighting? Either way, he looks... delicious.

So, you scroll down to read what his bio has to say.

A soldier, originally from Las Almas... 6ft tall... And a good cook... Looks like you've just caught yourself a two-in-one... A dinner and... if his bio is anything to go off of, a one night stand.

Although that bio...

You find yourself swiping right and in an instant, your phone displays a 'It's a Match!' screen, signalling that he liked you back.

You open your DM with him and carefully type a message:

you:

"Do you know your bio has a typo? You wrote horse twice."

His reply was surprisingly quick, almost like he was already in the DM screen as well, waiting for you to reply:

Alejandro:

"I know. I did it on purpose so people would DM me to correct me." "Pretty sure it increased the amount of women reaching out to me." "Women like you."

Cocking a brow, you can't help but scoff. Of course, he uses that typo as an ice-breaker!

No wonder he answered so quick! He was already anticipating you'd call his attention to his typo...

Sitting up on the couch again, you shift your weight and sit into a more focused position, leaning forward, before you type out an answer.

It has to be witty. It has to be funny. It has to catch him off guard...

...

you:

"That explains it." "And now that I got that out of the way..." "Is your forehead really that big or is it just the angle?"

You set your phone down on the coffee table in front of you and bite your lip, hoping that your comment wouldn't have pushed him too far...

A couple of new messages pop onto the left side of the screen in a row, causing you to lean forward to read them.

Alejandro:

"Excuse me?" "I bet you wouldn't say that to my face."

Trying not to giggle, you carefully grab the phone and type another reply:

you:

"More like say it to your forehead you mean?"

You wonder if you're going too far.

He's the first and only interesting guy you've found on Tinder today, the only one that you didn't deem boring upon one glance of their face and bio...

What are you even doing, making fun of him like this?

What if that just causes him to unmatch and block you?

What if-

Alejandro:

"I've never in my entire life been spoken to like this." "Other than when I was a boy pissing off my sisters." "And I hate to say that I sort of like it."

Your eyebrows raise and your eyes widen, feeling like you somehow just caught the biggest fish in the lake by blindly throwing in the lure and reeling it back out when you decided you should.

Sheer fucking luck.

you:

"I have more of those if you'd like." "Can keep going all night just making fun of you."

He paused again for a moment before replying with:

Alejandro:

"And you wouldn't run out of things to say?"

you:

"I'm sure I wouldn't."

Alejandro:

"And what would I have to give you in return for this to happen?"

you:

"Cook me dinner?"

Alejandro:

"Sounds like this was all a ploy to taste my food."

Taking a deep breath, you look around your room aimlessly, trying to hold back from saying the first thought that popped into your mind at reading that message...

But you can't help it.

And, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

you:

"Maybe it's not just the food I'm planning on tasting."

Alejandro:

"Oh." "Maybe I'd like that."

you:

"Doesn't scare you?"

You almost patted yourself on the back for making a joke about his profile's stupid little 'if you think you're into something that scares me' line.

Alejandro:

"I'm an army colonel. Of course it doesn't scare me." "It just intrigues me." "You sure do look like you're starving. Who am I to deny you?"

Stifling a scoff and a bit of a groan, you reply with:

you:

"That line sounded straight out of a porno."

Alejandro:

"Haven't even cooked you dinner and you're beginning with the insults?" "You don't waste any time, huh?"

you:

"No and neither should you."

Alejandro:

"Then how about you let me cook you dinner right now?" "No stalling or wasting any more time."

Biting back a smirk, you shake your head in amusement.

you:

"Sounds good to me." "Address?"

"I was right, wasn't I, nena [babygirl]?" Alejandro asks as he looks down at you as you crouch before him in his kitchen.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, muffled sounds escaping your lips as you keep your mouth stuffed with his cock.

"That's right... You really were starving..." He cooed as he looked down at you, his voice carrying a pleasant growl and gravel to it.

Your head is pressed nicely against the cupboards of his kitchen, as he carefully prepares pico de gallo for the tacos he's making the two of you for dinner.

You hadn't expected to end up in this position so soon after driving up to his house, a small 1-store casita with wooden frames and details and a wonderful little tiled patio out back.

You had expected some flirting, some jokes, you roasting him...

Instead, you had somehow ended up pressed against the kitchen counter with his tongue deep in your mouth and his hand up your shirt, fondling one of your breasts...

And now, here you were, perched on your own heels, with his big cock slowly and repeatedly bruising the back of your throat as you moaned softly around it... While he cooks dinner for the both of you like nothing's happening.

It's almost infuriating, how calm he seems, how he looks down at you with those stunning brown eyes of his, and a smug little smirk on his lips...

And yet, he also looks absolutely breathtaking, standing there in a charcoal grey button-up, the first few buttons popped open to reveal a generous speckling of chest hair and a golden crucifix and a few other chains resting over his pecs…

And the way the sweat pools on his brow, and slips down the side of his robust neck, and disappears under his collar…

The light of the setting sun, warm and orange toned, filters through the windows and illuminates his small home, warming it, and reflecting off his sweat, and shining so bright on him.

It almost doesn't get better than this... letting him fuck your throat against the cupboard while he cooks you a meal which, by the scent, will be delicious, proving he wasn't lying about being a good cook...

Setting your hand on his hip, you tap your fingers on his lower back, gesturing him to go deeper into your mouth.

He picks up on the signal and thrusts harder into your mouth, causing you to choke and gurgle around his large shaft, some saliva slowly slipping down the length and disappearing in the generous bush of hair at the base.

"Mmmm, you like when I make you choke, huh?" He coos as he wipes one of his hands on a tea towel and then grips your hair, protecting your head from bouncing back on the hard wood of the cabinet.

Then, his other hand holds onto the edge of the counter, fingers curling and tightening around it, to keep him upright, before he starts thrusting more decisively into your mouth.

Your eyes roll in delight as he bullies his way deep into your mouth in a more consistent and violent pace, his own head falling back and allowing him to grunt and groan as your throat tightens and constricts around him.

"¡Ay carajo! [Ah, fuck!]" Alejandro groans as he pulls your head closer to his crotch, burying your nose in the coarse hair at the base of his cock, keeping the tip buried deep inside your mouth.

Sputtering and gurgling around him, your hands find a perch on his hip, on either side, but, rather than pulling him off, you hold onto him, close and against you, your nails digging into the muscles of his ass cheeks through the fabric of his jeans.

Your tongue laps up at the underside of his cock just as it begins to throb, Alejandro groans above you, leaning his head on the upper cabinets as he slowly floods your mouth with his tangy cum, which slowly slides down your throat as you make an effort to swallow around him.

With a long exhale, Alejandro licks his lips and looks down at you as he slowly pulls his softening cock from your mouth, letting you finally catch a proper breath too.

"Your mouth is very talented, mamacita." He compliments you, a smirk already forming on his lips again, his hand reaching down to help you wipe some drool off your chin.

"Thank you." You reply with a chuckle and push yourself up to your feet, side stepping him as he tucks himself back into his jeans and resumes making you dinner.

"So... What were you saying about having a lot more insults to tell me?" He quips and smirks at you.

"Well, first of all, I could still see your forehead from all the way down there,"

You break the kiss in favor of carefully rocking back and forth on his dick, buried balls deep within your slick cunt.

His large hands grip onto your hip and thighs to continue moving you atop him, making your clit grinding against his pubic hair in a way that made you squirm and whine.

His head is leaning back on the back of his couch as he watches you make yourself feel good, overstimulating your sensitive clit with the help of the coarse hair on his pelvis, and feeling the tip of his slightly curved cock rub against your g-spot.

"You like that, hm, vaquerita [little cowgirl]?" He coos at you, as your head dips back and you moan softly, before bouncing up on his cock for a moment and sinking all the way down, drawing louder groans out of you both.

It's a surprisingly slow fucking session, probably because of your bellies are full and warm with the recent meal, and you just sort of stumbled your way onto the couch afterward, for a make-out session that turned to slow, lazy sex.

Leaning against Alejandro in the low sunlight as the afternoon turns into evening and the sun sets through the window, you rock your hips against his again and again.

Your lips find his for what must be the 50th time tonight. Your tongues intertwine as you huff and moan into his mouth, his fingers digging your thighs as he squeezes you down and rubs you onto him, back and forth.

Breaking the kiss, you set your head down on his shoulder. It's almost too intimate for a first time, but it's strangely nice. His skin feels nice and warm against you, albeit a bit dewy with sweat.

Your eyes look up at him as he relaxes his head back and grunts softly, continuing to guide your hip back and forth on his, to seek out extra friction for you both, and murmuring incoherent Spanish curses and words of praise.

Slowly, you find yourself leaning forward and lick a stripe up his neck toward his stubble-speckled jawline, feeling the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue, as, even now, he's still producing more and more little droplets that slide tantalizingly slowly down his tan skin.

Then, you lick across the bottom of his jaw and around to the back of it, then, your head lowers and you lick another stripe up his neck. Alejandro reacts the same every single time, with a soft shudder and a grunt, throwing his hips up into yours.

"Oh you like that, huh, vaquero [cowboy]?" You tease him this time, using his own words against him.

The look Alejandro shoots you at that quip makes it clear he didn't appreciate your sarcasm... What a shame.

You lean back, your hands coming to rest on his thighs behind you, before you start bouncing in fervor. It drives a groan out of him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

His left hand goes to your waist to steady you while he brings his other hand up to your lower stomach, pressing down onto it and allowing him to feel himself through your walls.

His thumb finds its way to your clit, rubbing it side to side, as you continue carefully and steadily bouncing off his lap, his own thighs having stiffened and raised to allow you and easier time.

The slaps of your ass and his thighs meeting echos throughout the living room, along with the sounds of your and Alejandro's moans.

It's a slow build-up, the both of you too lazy to actually put in too much effort into chasing your orgasm, but, steadily, and with Alejandro's thumb consistently rubbing against your clit, you find yourself reaching your peak.

Alejandro watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, leaning back against the couch and a stupid smirk painted on his lips, seeming so smug over the fact he got you to fall apart on his cock...

Only to watch you dismount from him and take a seat beside him on the couch, your body feeling too hot and tired to even remain in touch with any part of his.

His smirk vanishes and he cocks a brow, giving you a silent, judgmental look, as if asking 'What are you doing? Get back here.'.

And his face downright settles into a scowl when you mirror him by raising your own brow and ask him "You're a colonel, you've got this, right? You don't need my help.".

And, with an extra little impish smile you add, "Don't be scared, I believe in you, caballito [horsie]!"

for @lyralein , so you stop fucking bullying me because I "never write Alejandro" or whatever 🫶

#ikea writes 💚#cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #cod smut #smut #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas fanfic #los vaqueros

228 notes · View notes

ladyredmoon13 · 10 months

Text

DCXDP PROMPT

Your Father's Son

Isn't it unfortunate how no matter how hard you try to stop something, all you really do is prolong the enviable?

Danny stopped Dan from killing all his friends and family. He took the lesson Clockwork was trying to teach him to heart and believed that the worst had passed. True there were other problems. Other crises that he gave his attention to.

But even still the event at the Nasty Burger would always linger as a reminder of how truly grateful he was to have each and every one of them in his life.

So it came as a shock to him when the Nasty Burger blew up into smithereens right in front of him for the second time in his life. This time however was different.

He stood less than a block away from the blast. Nocked back, his head hit something hard and then everything was nothing but white noise as everything went black for him.

---------

This event could officially go down as the worst way Bruce found out he had a child.

He was enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon with his family when he got a call. It was social services and what they had to say both shocked and saddened him to his very soul.

After the call ended he felt numb. He wasn’t sure how to feel at that time. So many emotions wreaked havoc in his mind that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

That was till Dick knocked on his door asking about the call. He knew then that he had to tell his kids. No matter what he did next he had to inform them of the situation.

So he sat them down, all of them listening with various degrees of surprise as he told them he had another son. They don't get a chance to comment though as Bruce continued speaking. The explanation getting worse and worse with each word spoken.

His son, Danny; he told them. Had been the only survivor of a horrific accident where he had witnessed all his family die. As if witnessing the event wasn't bad enough. He was now in a comma.

A comma he had been in for over a month! A MONTH! They had the information needed to contact him and they chose over a MONTH AFTER the event to notify him.

That wasn’t even the end of it. The only reason they called him at all was to get his consent to pull the plug on Danny. They wanted Bruce to pull a child he didn't even know he had off of life support.

The Bat Family were shocked. They were pissed. Most importantly, they wanted to see him. To save him if they could. Help wherever they can for him. Even if it ment giving him an organ.

(Tim- I might not have a pancreas anymore but I'll gladly give him a kidney if I can.)

Bruce just smiled at them. Telling them through unshed tears to pack a bag. They were going to see him. And they were going to help him. They'll be damned if they let another brother/son die that’s a promise!

-----------

So here is what I can see happening. They get to Amity Park and see Danny hooked up to all those monitors and immediately wondered in their sadness, just how could this happen?

They all go into detective mode and begin investigating. With the exception of one of them that decided to start a watch. That way if Danny woke up then he'll have someone there for him.

So the Bats begin investigating but hit walls at almost every turn. It was as if someone powerful and high up was trying to bury the incident. Make it as if it never happened in the first place.

During all this Danny finally wakes up. He remembers what happened instantly and as doctors try to calm him down the person left behind to stay with him calls everyone. They're relieved and make it back to the hospital.

Only Danny has disappeared. They don't know where he went or how. The doctors are confused and the Bat they left with him was only gone long enough to make the call and grab a coffee/snack.

The entire hospital is looking for Danny but Bruce has a feeling that they won't find him.

Meanwhile, Danny was staggering his way through alleyways trying to get back to Fenton Works. He knows his family and friends are dead. There was no denying what he saw.

But that wasn't the only thing he saw. There was no way he could of mistaken the stark white vans that had been parked just outside the NB just moments before the blast.

Somehow, in some way, the GIW was responsible for their deaths. And he was going to provide it. Mom and Dad, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will have justice. He just needs to get back home a grab a few things first.

#dc x dp crossover #batman #danny phantom #danny fenton #damien wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam #coma #nasty burger #amity park

732 notes · View notes

t3a-tan · 2 months

Note

Okay, we know Oliver isn't scared of James but.. what if James (accidentally or not) actually did something that would scare the shit outta Oliver? Make Oliver feel totally vulnerable and terrified?

We really need to see their angst!

(love your work🥰)

You guys asked for it. Ironically @justme315 also just made a post whilst I was in the middle of writing it about wanting some good angst-- hopefully this is filling enough. I also tied this into the injury prompt 31 which was requested!

31) "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Word count: 1,685

---

“We all make mistakes, James. It's a part of life. You shouldn't hold onto that guilt forever. You said yourself that Emily forgave you for—”

“Emily forgiving me doesn't fix anything! Fuck, Oliver— I… I don't want your therapy-speak right now, it's just pissing me off!” James interrupted, a slight growl in his tone as he levelled a half-glare in the borrower's direction. His hands gestured as he spoke to emphasise his point. He knew Oliver was only trying to help, but he always made it sound so simple when life just wasn't like that.

Oliver winced at the volume but didn't let it bother him too much, sensing that if he told James to quiet down that might just aggravate him further. He focused instead on what James said. Therapy-speak?

“That's…just how I speak, James. I'm sorry if it made things worse, I’ll try to…hm.” He paused, thinking over what to do to fix his speech in the moment. “I’ll try not to say too many words. I understand that can be overwhelming for some people when they're in distress. My apologies.”

James groaned, slamming an elbow onto the edge of the table as he buried his face in one of his hands for a moment. He looked up, brows furrowing with irritation clear in his expression. “You are literally doing it right now—”

Oliver bristled.

“Oh. I'm…sorry. I'm just trying to communicate clearly so my intentions and feelings aren't misunderstood.” He hesitated again for a moment as he tried to figure out what about his speech was therapy-speak. Did James not want comfort..? But then what was Oliver supposed to do? He certainly wasn't going to participate in James's self-loathing. He offered a reassuring smile. “How would you like me to speak? I just want to help.”

James inhaled slowly before letting out a huff, closing his eyes and burying his face in both hands now. Rather than answering Oliver he stayed like that; silent, annoyed but trying to hold it back. He knew Oliver just wanted to help— but sometimes that just made James feel worse because Oliver had it all figured out and James didn't.

Sometimes he admired Oliver so much, but other times he felt so jealous. Even now, James knew that he was being the bad guy. Oliver wasn't a malicious person and clearly only cared but James really didn't want care right now. He wanted to shout and yell and throw things and collapse in a corner and cry to himself as the thought of one drink wouldn't hurt kept replaying in his mind over and over again.

Sometimes he just needed that time to get it all out so it wouldn't keep bubbling up inside of him, and Oliver was the one who was keeping him from that. Ultimately neither option would fix the relationships he had broken, so it didn't matter which one he picked, right? Self-destruction was probably some fucked up form of self-love in some way.

“I’m sorry—” Oliver began, feeling slightly on edge seeing James be so quiet and simply assuming, correctly, that he had spoken wrong again. He didn't like the feeling at all. He hadn't felt it before when facing an angry human; even angry dangerous humans; because James was his friend and he wasn't used to seeing him in that way. It felt wrong.

And something was clearly wrong because before Oliver could react, he was snatched up into a fist and lifted up to eye level. The position he was grabbed in was less than comfortable, and Oliver had been startled seeing the movement come from someone who hadn't really grabbed him much since their first meeting. Fully facing James's glare felt almost akin to staring down a gun barrel and Oliver felt nervous despite himself.

“Would you shut up?!! I didn't ask you for help or advice, so stop fucking telling me how I’m supposed to fucking feel!! I'm not stupid— I already know that this isn't bloody productive, but for God sake Oliver, you don't know shit about what I've done!!” James knew he was taking out his anger at himself on Oliver right now, but he just wanted him to stop trying.

Oliver grimaced at the further increase in volume, especially from up close. Even after the shouting and swearing though he could still only see that his friend was suffering and all he wanted to do was help. James might not want it, but he needed it at that moment… He needed to break free of these self-destructive patterns.

“I know you aren't a monster.” He responded simply, and despite his slight unease Oliver still managed to meet James's gaze with his own; seeing right through him and into the hurt that was beneath all of the anger. He could see how watery his friend's gaze was.

And that was what made James snap.

He just wanted to get a reaction— some confirmation of his own thoughts and feelings about himself. He wasn't thinking straight.

James squeezed his hand slightly.

He regretted it in the same second he did it, breath hitching and his hand immediately dropping back down to the table and releasing Oliver onto it like a reflex. His expression of anger quickly became one of horror as he processed the small crack he had heard and felt when he had squeezed. Oliver always seemed so invincible that the harsh reminder that he wasn't hit James like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” James gasped, blinking quickly to try to keep the water out of his eyes. Why did I do that? Why on Earth did I do that?? His hand covered his mouth slightly seeing Oliver's alarmed and dazed expression as he raised his arm and looked upon his newly broken wrist. I did that. Oh god.

“I'm…fine…” The borrower uttered slowly, still focused on the injury. The adrenaline rush was likely responsible for the numbness he felt buzzing through his whole body and keeping the pain from being unbearable, so he was fine. For now. His voice wavered slightly and he found it difficult to look up at his friend at the moment.

Is this fear? Why am I afraid..? James is my friend, and this was an accident. He wasn't trying to break anything I'm sure… Oliver brought his other hand up to cradle the injury only to notice his hand was shaking. Not just his hand…his whole body. No. I can't be scared. It will only make things worse…

Oliver looked down at his shoes, trying to gather himself again but failing miserably.

“I.. I'm sorry that I hurt you so much, James. I don't mean to.” He felt something wet roll down his cheek and drip onto the floor. Stunned by the fact that he was crying right now, Oliver wiped it off with his uninjured hand before looking at his slightly dampened fingertips with a furrowed brow of confusion.

“Fuck. Oliver don't apologise, I…” James trailed off. He had never seen Oliver shake or cry before— and even if Oliver was still talking fine James could hear the fear in his voice. “I can help. Just—”

As he reached forward to offer Oliver a hand and take him to where the medical supplies were kept, the usually stoic borrower suddenly backpedalled, stumbling back so suddenly that he ended up falling backwards and onto his behind. James's hand snapped back like it had been burned and his lips pressing into a stressed line.

Oliver's heart was pounding as he stared up at James. He had never been like this before, and he didn't like it at all… I need to get a hold of myself. It was an accident. It was an accident… Despite him assuring himself of that again and again his mouth felt dry as he met James's horrified gaze. He was reminded of the glare that had been there only moments ago.

“It…it was an accident. You wouldn't break anything on purpose… It was a mistake.” He murmured to himself, shoulders bunching up and knees being brought closer to his chest. Even when other humans had given him similar injuries, Oliver had never felt like this. He hesitated, looking down again. “Could I have some medical supplies?”

James stood up quickly, wincing as he saw Oliver flinch in response. He opened his mouth to apologise again before deciding against it and quickly going to the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit. You haven't changed. Even after everything you haven't changed.

He took a deep breath to try to settle his nerves as he grabbed everything needed and walked back in. Oliver was still sitting in the same position; still not looking at him. I took it for granted again. James set the kit down before resting his hands on the edge of the table. He bit his lip.

“Can I help..?” He asked, desperate to try and right his wrong at least a little. He deflated as he saw Oliver's small shake of the head.

“I would like to be alone for a while, please. I..I don't like how I'm feeling at the moment…” Oliver spoke and James hated how he could hear the nervous trembles in his voice. Still, he nodded, standing up more slowly this time. As he looked down at his friend from this position it became clear just how small and vulnerable he was… He blinked again but it didn't help with the tears this time as one simply rolled down his cheek anyway.

“I’m sorry…” He uttered softly. Why did I think it was okay to grab him in the first place? Just because I can? What kind of monster would do something like that..? Lip trembling slightly, James turned and began to walk away only to pause when he heard Oliver's voice again.

“I forgive you.”

James stood still for a few more moments before leaving the room and sitting at the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. He grit his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly.

Forgiveness wouldn't fix anything.

#g/t community #ocs #g/t artist #ask box #g/t #g/t writer #borrowers #oc asks #ask #giant/tiny #g/t angst #g/t writing #giant/tiny writing

126 notes · View notes

evilminji · 10 days

Text

As I have recently discussed, with the ESTEEMED Quirk Scholar @mayfay !

Suprise Quirk Accident Babies! Gotta love um!

They're the, ironically enough, love child of "suprise child acquisition" and "suddenly pregnant" troupes! But SPEEDRUN! Because THAT IS A TODDLER/BABY! Right here. Right now!

Just?

POOF!

✨️~BABY~✨️

And now YOU! Yes, YOU! Get to deal with it. All those vague "do I want to be a parent someday? Would it be SAFE? I am READY?" Questions AND MORE! Suddenly NOT SO VAGUE.

Suddenly VERY RELAVENT. Immediate. People are asking you questions you are GOING to need to answer. And?

You are not the only parent.

You might be JUST out of fucking high-school. Staring down a top lister, high 20, maybe TOP TEN, Hero. Who is society gonna choose here? Your barely adult ass... or them? You might never see your kid again if they decide to take them. Decide to be an asshole.

They have enemies, too.

Can... can you HANDLE those enemies? To protect your kid?

It's been less then fifteen minutes. Fight has barely ended and your sitting under a shock blanket. Decisions are going to have to be made. And all you can think is the sound of your own panicked screaming. Static white noise. The reporters and shady Goverment officials already circling like sharks. Gotta make a decision. Gotta make a decision. Gotta....

It is? The BEST.

The more unlikely the combos the better! My asexual ass is thriving! Fuck yeah! Free baby, no sex!!! You can have platonic child rearing shenanigans! Interesting Self Insert Setups! New OCs! Character dramas! Or romance, if your into that sorta thing!

But you know what I think would be funny as hell?

The continued bloodline curse of AfO being so Platonicly Yandere at his own kin that they go Rabidly Feral Wet Cat and try to claw his throat out, bare minimum! Because obviously HE isn't the problem here! No, no, it's everyone ELSE that caused the issues last time! He doesn't have to learn from past mistakes! He's perfect! (Spoken by the world's most delusional man)

He ALSO has lost track of how many minor quirks he has shoved in metaphorical pockets at the moment. As he is, as always, a kleptomaniac. The way the react to each other? Cascade and shift? React to OTHER outside quirks?

Ha! He's never fucking studied that. Why would he study that!? He has power to steal.

So... set the scene~

Toshinori v. Afo: Kamino Ward.

Make the changes you please, add or subtract Heros, but the BIG TWO are there. They clash. Like Titans. Like GODS. AfO getting frisky with his quirk use, throwing everything at the wall. But?

Oh. This time. THIS TIME, you bastard! Toshinori is NOT ALONE!

The power of community, of an ARMY, is not to be underestimated. They make be struggling. Have broken bones and worse. But they know he just... just needs ONE shot! They... they can give him one shot.

Even if it's the last thing they ever do.

Because? They are god damned HEROES.

AfO feels his legs rip out from under him, just as he's about to dodge. It's going to be a killshot. He may... potentially... THEORETICALLY... conceivably... possibly... panic... just a bit. MAYBE. A microscopic amount.

He lashes out.

With everything.

And he DOES mean everything. Yes, including that "grow flowers" and the "summon apples towards you"Quirk, for all the good THOSE would have done.

Something? Happens.

The blast hits the Oaf infront of him... and? Resonates. Like the striking of a great clear bell. It RINGS. Deafening. Without noise. The damn brat...rewinds? No. He's not younger. He RESETS! OH YOU MOTHER FU-!

Something sliding off him. Like dust. From the reset. Drifting towards other dust.

Swirling. Some merging, like planets forming. Most not enough. Turning grey and falling to the ground. But... but he can SEE it. A whisp of white hair gets in the way. HIS hair. Ha. Ha ha hA HA HA HA HA!!! Reset! NOT JUST YOU, ALL MIGHT!

The heroes are getting up. It doesn't matter. He'll just put them BACK on the ground.

INTO it this time.

But then?

The dust from him, all might, so many others. Solidifies, compresses, the pops like a firework. Dumping a very started black hair, blue eyed, toddler on the ground.

AfO connects the dots first. He has AfO hair texture. Quirk weirdness just happened and their is ALWAYS a cost or drawback to Quirks. Such as... any overflow creates an infant? Did he just make his own child?

Not risking it.

He lunges.

All Might lunges for the simple reason of "oh GOD SUPERVILLIAN AND A BABY!" D:> same as every other hero there.

Meanwhile DANNY? Retired Halfa Superhero, Zone Councilman, and LATE to his DnD night... is beginning to suspect THIS is what Clockwork meant when he said "some roads take longer to get home".

Was that that a "Lol good luck buddy"!?

@mutable-manifestation @babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @hdgnj

#dpxmha #dpxbnha #minji's writing #Quirk baby au

85 notes · View notes

llyfrenfys · 19 days

Text

Xenophobia in Celtic nations' independence movements: A guide to the red flags

This is something I've wanted to write about for a long time - I want to go over this in more detail when I can. But for now a short guide to the most egregious red flags is warranted imo.

'Celtic nations' refers to the modern regions where Celtic languages are still spoken, namely Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Isle of Man, Cornwall and Brittany. Its important to know that these places are called Celtic not because of who lives there, but because of the languages which have survived there. Its a common error to think 'Celtic nations'= Celtic people. In my field (Celtic Studies) Celtic is generally only applied as a descriptor in the sense of language family.

Because of the popular misinformation 'Celtic nation' = 'Celtic' population, xenophobia rears its ugly head in multiple corners of the various Celtic nations' independence movements. Left unchecked, this xenophobia develops into outright racism. Which is why it's important to recognise these red flags when you see them.

'Acceptable Targets':

The reason why some of the xenophobia goes unchecked (and develops into worse kinds) is because a lot of xenophobia in the Celtic nations is aimed at 'acceptable' targets - which no-one bats an eye about when this rhetoric is deployed. But were it deployed against any other nationalities, it would immediately obvious that it isn't acceptable. Now, I will preface this with that there's nuance with these nationalities and there's something to be said about whether some of it is 'punching up'. However, because of how accepted it is to be casually xenophobic against these privileged groups, it is signalled through that that it's okay to be xenophobic in general to less privileged groups. I feel its important to address the first rung on the ladder before tackling any higher up.

Without beating around the bush, I'm talking about the English (and French. But I know more about the English so that's where my focus will be).

Yes, pro-independence anti-English memes and jokes can be funny. Most of them do stay on the side of punching up and many raise important points on the effects of English imperialism on the Celtic languages. However, there's a fine line between punching up and voluntarily using and wielding xenophobic arguments and rhetoric to get one up on the English. This, in my view, only paves the way for worse kinds of xenophobia and to me is a canary in the coal mine situation. But I also cannot talk about this without also making it clear that it is possible to recognise that sometimes a line is crossed without validating English persecution complexes à la 'you can't even say you're English these days' or similar nonsense. Both things can be true at once: Casual xenophobia against the English does exist, however, its existence should not be used to validate English persecution complexes. On the contrary, we should fight that also.

The reason why this canary in the coal mine has gone unnoticed is because of the reluctance to actually point out xenophobia against the English in pro-independence movements due to fear of accidentally validating the claims Englishness as a concept is under threat or due of fear of ostracism from Celtic nationalist movements. There is little danger of actually validating the former sentiment, however, because of a crucial fact. The people in the Celtic nations being casually xenophobic and the English with persecution complexes have one massive trait in common: they're both xenophobic in incredibly similar ways. If it's hard to tell apart an English nationalist from one in a Celtic nation if you were to swap the target of their ire, congratulations, your movement has a xenophobia problem /s.

English nationalist: We should tighten controls on our borders to keep all those foreigners and immigrants out. Make England English again.

(Xenophobic) Celtic nationalist: We should fight for our independence so we can tighten controls on our borders to keep all those foreigners and immigrants out. Make [insert Celtic nation] [nationish] again.

Many Celtic nationalists will also present ahistorical facts or manipulated versions of history in order to seem more valid or legitimate. It's a massive red flag when someone's grasp of history seems more emotional than grounded in historical fact. Using Welsh history as an example, I've seen this type of Celtic nationalist blatantly lie about historical figures, literally deface ancient castles in Wales based on a poor grasp (and respect for) history and conflate modern English and Welsh identity with ancient entities which do not map neatly 1:1. The ahistory presented by individuals or groups fancying themselves as leaders in their respective movements are unquestioningly accepted by others in the Celtic nationalist movements. This creates a manufactured mythology, belief in which confers in-group status and out-group status. A mythology which reinforces beliefs already present in the movement - such as the right to be casually xenophobic as long as it's against the 'right people' and as long as it is done in the name of protecting or advocating for their nation.

It was never going to stop at English people:

Once casual xenophobia is established as being tolerated, expected or even encouraged in the various independence movements, it enables xenophobes to be bolder in their rhetoric. Because casual xenophobia against 'deserving' nations like England is dismissed as 'just banter' and not taken seriously, it sends a signal to everyone in that movement that xenophobia is okay if its used against the 'right groups. While it may roll like water off a duck's back to the average English person, other, more vulnerable people do not fare so well.

To use an actual example I've seen out in the wild, some people will claim that you can't be considered Welsh unless you were born in Wales. Many people won't question this or interrogate the implications. Firstly, this comes back to how Celtic nationalists can often sound exactly the same as English nationalists (blood and soil nationalism is common to English and Celtic nationalisms). Secondly, this rhetoric also simulataneously invalidates several ostensibly Welsh people, such as Saunders Lewis (born in Liverpool) and Jan Morris (born in Somerset). In most cases, anyone who lives in X country / is a citizen of X country can or should be able to describe themselves as Xish.

The perennial anxiety of Celtic nationalists is that because most of the Celtic nations (excepting the Republic of Ireland) are constituent parts of a state (either the UK or France) and not independent entities in their own right, there is no control over borders and there is no system by which someone can be made a Welsh, or Breton or Cornish etc. citizen - and thus no way to control [nation]ness via those means. When Celtic nationalists agitate for independence, it's important to interrogate their motivations. If they are motivated primarily by a desire to control who is considered Xish and who isn't, that's a red flag.

English nationalists have this citizenship problem too, since England is not an independent nation, but a country within the UK. However, most English nationalists overlap heavily with British nationalists in general, so most agitation for 'sovereignty' gets channelled into British nationalism. This is one of the key differences between English and Celtic nationalists - the former is usually very fond of the United Kingdom, the latter detests it and wants to secede. This leaves Celtic nationalism in a tight spot - there is a desire for self determination which is currently impossible to achieve or enforce. And that makes a lot of Celtic nationalists anxious. And that anxiety leads to feeling like they need to prove their commitment to the cause by performing xenophobia, which validates their in-group status while simultaneously establishes the out-group.

A person born in England but who lives in Wales, perhaps speaks Welsh or considers themself Welsh will, in general, be mostly unharmed by 'you have to be born in Wales to be Welsh' rhetoric. But you know who might be? So many immigrants who consider themselves Welsh who make Wales a great place to be. Immigrants in Wales (especially nonwhite immigrants) may feel excluded by such rhetoric. It's almost on par with "where are you really from" sentiments. And this is an entirely self-defeating kind of rhetoric for Celtic nationalists to take up. Here we have thousands upon thousands of people who willingly want to live and work in Celtic nations - many of whom will also learn the language - undoing centuries of English and French propaganda that diminished the worth of Celtic nations and their languages* - and Celtic nationalists want to exclude these people from claiming the nationality of their adopted nations because... they didn't happen to be born here. Got it.

Xenophobia, once established, cannot be contained:

Xenophobia ripples outwards. Once it is established it is okay to be xenophobic to certain groups, other groups begin to be included in the xenophobia. This then has the potential to expand into outright racism. In Ireland, for example, there's significant amounts of antiblack racism present in the nationalist movement. Very recently, due to the actions of the UK government over the Rwanda Plan, the Republic of Ireland has gotten frustrated at the amount of immigrants attempting to reach their shores after abandoning attempts to claim asylum in the UK (out of fear of being sent to Rwanda). There's a "we don't do that here" attitude in many Celtic nationalist movements with regards to English imperialism, xenophobia, racism and anti-immigration. But not only do we do that here - it's worryingly integral to some people's visions for their nation's independence! You end up with complacency because many will take a literal no true Scotsman approach to Celtic nationalism and pretend that such people aren't really part of the movement. The problem is, is that they are here and regularly hijack otherwise unproblematic movements.

There are many routes through which Celtic nationalists can get radicalised into becoming massively xenophobic in order to fight for their respective nation's independence. All of them stem from real, legitimate problems in each nation whose cause has been misidentified.

One way is through opposition to second homes. On all counts, a noble goal and a very legitimate problem which I myself am invested in fighting. But the ways in which this problem is addressed often veer into questionable territory. If the focus is on "how dare those people from over there come over here" instead of "how dare a very small group of people monopolise housing for holiday lets at the expense of locals" there's a problem. The problem isn't people not from [place] holidaying there, it's the people who monopolise housing for their own profit which reduces housing available for locals and destroys community. In Aberystwyth I've heard some appalling sentiments against people from the Midlands - borderline if not outright classism around their appearances, mannerisms and accents. Sneering at random families visiting the beach isn't going to help anything and only exposes thinly veiled bigotry in whoever is making such remarks.

As already mentioned, another way radicalisation into xenophobic Celtic nationalism can occur is through mythologised 'history' which has been manipulated to suit the needs of the person or people making the claim. Lately, I've been seeing a rise in Welsh 'history' groups rife with disinformation and outright misrepresentation of historical events which are so designed to keep people angry about historical injustices against Wales. There are plenty of real historical injustices which can be talked about - but the 'history' presented in these groups is often fabricated or twisted to make things worse than they were or are stripped of nuance which perhaps paints certain historical figures less favourably than the authors would have liked. Not to mention superimposing modern nationalism onto ancient peoples is also just accepted as fine to do. Here is a screenshot of a Welsh 'history' group shared in a Welsh learning group I'm in. I can and will do a deeper dive into this topic in particular when I can. For now I'll mention the most important things to notice:

As mentioned in one of my other posts on this topic - the term 'native' is frequently misused in a Celtic context. Here, it sets up the basic in-group/out-group dynamic from the start and creates a setting in which members of the group are privy to the 'real' history while others are not. A brief glance at posts in this group makes that quite clear. The flag in the image is a representation of Y Groes Naid - supposedly a piece of the True Cross kept at Aberconwy. Now, there are ways to depict this cross which aren't so dogwhistley - so I'm immediately suspicious this image was chosen on purpose. Right down to the fact there's plausible deniability if anyone tries to point out how much the flag looks like the white supremacist Celtic Cross symbol, since it's Y Groes Naid, right?

I will wrap this up with that as a Celticist, I see far too many people uncritically supporting certain Celtic nationalist movements simply because they are pro-independence. Turning a blind eye to 'acceptable' xenophobia and choosing to believe ahistorical versions of history because it better suits their politics. This must be resisted - we can advocate for the independence of Celtic nations which desire it without relying upon these means. It can be done, I promise. But the path to that means dismantling systems of oppression which exist within Celtic nationalist movements. Awareness of the problem in the first place is a good place to start.

Reblogs and comments are welcome on this post to raise awareness of the issue and actually talk about these things.

Diolch am darllen!

100 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

Hi babes! I have a request for steve <3

Reader's hands are shaky, like she cant keep them steady and it's because of anxiety. So maybe something where she's trying to do something that requires precision and she gets frustrated with herself and steve just take her hands in his and calm her down

I'm obsessed with your blurbs! They're so cute it hurts

hi!!! thank you so much!! hope this is OK ♡ fem!reader | 0.9k words

"Fuck," you mumble.

Threading a needle isn't an easy task. Threading a needle with shaky hands borders impossible.

You sit on the floor next to Steve's bed with a small sewing kit in your lap, a length of red fabric over your knees. You'd told Dustin you could fix the rip in his favourite hoodie and you're confident you can do it, an invisible stitch won't take you ten minutes. Or, it wouldn't, if your hands felt like cooperating.

Anxiety makes you unsteady.

You prick your fingertip. "Ouch," you mutter.

"You okay?" Steve asks, attention stolen from the TV.

"Yeah," you say, much more confidently than you're feeling.

Soon, a socked foot comes into view. You turn to watch him slide off of the bed and sit on the floor beside you, all wrinkled pajamas and bedhead. Still, he's lovely. His thigh presses hot to yours and his hand curls around your elbow lightly as he peers into your lap, curious.

"You haven't started?" he asks.

"No, was just… measuring," you lie.

He hums and leans back against the bed. "Do you care?" he asks, squeezing his hand where it remains on your arm.

"Not even a little bit." He can touch you as much as he wants.

You bend, the needle and thread at your eye level. If you only had a threader.

"Babe," Steve says eventually, a cautious, soft dragging of syllables, "are you feeling okay?"

You huff to yourself as the thread misses the eye for the twentieth time. It takes you a few seconds to realise he's spoken, and another to remember what it is he's asked. You turn your face to him but keep your eye on the task at hand. "Yeah, I'm amazing. Are you okay?"

You're not amazing – you feel very tightly strung today. He pulls your arm. You lean into his side, your eyebrows pinching in frustration.

"I'm good."

You look away from your trembling hands and set your eyes on his. His eyes, pretty as they are, have softened with concern. He pouts almost imperceptibly.

You kiss his cheek and go back to your sewing. Steve doesn't say anything for a while, only tightens and loosens his grip on your hand over and over, pretending not to watch you. While his touch soothes, his watching makes it worse. You get in your head, and soon you're biting your cheek in annoyance, wobbling obviously.

Steve's hand pushes down the length of your arm, the other going over your back. He takes the needle and thread and puts them back in the sewing kit before he's encapsulating your hands in his, a gentle but steady grip. He rests them on your thighs.

His breathing grows louder. You know he's doing it on purpose, asking you to follow his breathing without asking.

You take a few deep breaths and let him rub your fingers between his.

"Dustin won't mind if you do it tomorrow," he says eventually.

"He wants it for the movies later."

"He can wear something else. I'll let him borrow one of my jackets."

You melt into his chest with a dejected sigh. "I don't know why it's bad today."

"Does there need to be a reason?"

No. Not really.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he admonishes. "Take it easy."

You squeeze his hands weakly. "I'll feel bad if I don't fix it."

"I think how you're feeling right now is a little bit more important than his hoodie. He'll understand."

He hugs you from behind, crossing your joined hands over your front, nose tapping the shell of your ear. The thick fog of anxiety gets cut open by his affection, a dizzying warmth blooming throughout your chest as he slides the tip of his nose into the skin behind your ear, up and down, over and over.

"What can I do to make you feel better? Do you need some time by yourself?" he speaks quietly, so close to your ear it tickles.

"No," you say immediately. "Honestly, this is good. This is," you close your eyes and let your torso weigh on him, "perfect."

He rubs the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "I could fix his hoodie?"

"You should probably tell him to come tomorrow."

"I resent what you're implying."

You giggle. He can't magically cure your anxieties but his touch and his company ease the shakes, help you relax. After a while you turn and hug him properly, head held to his heart, his pulse bumping under your ear.

Steve forgets to call Dustin, and an hour later he's bursting into Steve's bedroom, entirely unimpressed with your cuddling.

"You guys are disgusting," he says.

You're half asleep. Steve, much more awake, says, "Bite me, Henderson."

"Y/N, I thought better of you." He opens his hands. "Where's the hoodie?"

"You can wear one of Steve's," you say sluggishly.

"Oh my god. Where does it end? Next thing you know I'm in a polo shirt working minimum wage, with no friends-"

"I have friends!" Steve interrupts, even as Dustin rolls his eyes and rushes down the stairs, his footsteps a hurricane and still very much talking to himself.

"-no money-"

Steve hums ruefully.

"-and no ambition!" Dustin calls, the front door opening.

"And a really pretty girlfriend!" Steve yells back.

The door slams shut. "Can't forget that one," he says to you, eyebrows raised and smirking. You squeeze his bicep, enamoured.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington blurb

2K notes · View notes

la-petite-lapin · 19 days

Text

Double the Love | Part Ten

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 3.0k (whew) Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, OC has anxiety, suggestive content, allusions to sex, polyamory, M/M/F

Gaz and Price find out

The week passes without incident. If anything, it's perfect.

During the day, I go to work. In the evenings, I come home to the two most perfect men in the world. Dinner is cooked - the table laid and the dishes washed - and I have a night of snuggling with my favourite people to look forward to.

Come the arrival of the weekend, our plans with the taskforce have been adjusted slightly. After a text exchange with Gaz, we've arranged a trip to a nice beer garden near his parents' house instead of them all coming to the apartment. He seemed a little confused at first, but didn't push his questioning any further when I told him that I needed to talk to John about something.

Something that I thought would be better raised on neutral ground.

Every waking hour this past week, I've been agonising over what to say to John - planning a way to tell him about my relationship with the boys. Now that I know it's not just a fling or a bit of fun for them, it's made me re-evaluate things. Above all else, I need him to know.

Johnny is on the cusp of making a full recovery and if - when - him and Simon get pulled back into active duty, I need John to keep them safe for me. I know that he'd lay down his life to protect them already - they're his boys, after all - but I want him to know just how important they are to me. That and, in all the time that I've known him, I've never been able to keep anything hidden from him for long.

The last thing I want is to blurt it out at the worst possible time later on down the line.

Even as we're driving to the beer garden, I'm jittery with nerves, twisting the oversized sleeve of my cardigan around and around over my fist. Every once and a while, Si tears his eyes away from the road ahead to shoot me a worried glance. Johnny's been kind enough to pretend not to notice, chattering away as a form of distraction from his seat in the back, leaning over the centre console to stay included.

Not that he's missing much. I've barely spoken since we woke up this morning.

Both of them know how important this is to me. How important it is that everything goes right. That I tell John first.

Ever since Alex died, John has been there for me. He stepped up like a second father, having a hand in raising me despite the fact that I was already way past my formative years when we met.

Hence my worry.

I'm about to tell the man who I view as a father that I'm sleeping with not one, but two of his best soldiers. People who Gaz - even though he meant well - has told me that he views as a second family. And I can't help but worry that this might all be too much for him. That it might damage my relationship with him in some fundamental, irreparable way, or worse - that it might put a strain on his relationship with the boys.

"Stop fussing about something that hasn't even happened yet, love," Simon says from the driver's seat, voice deep and full of gravel as usual.

It looks like the grace period has ended then.

"How are you not nervous?" I bite back. It's impossible to keep the edge out of my voice, and I immediately regret snapping at him.

Logically, I know that it's not their fault I'm so anxious, but I can't help getting defensive.

There's so much going on - so many small things that are shifting around to accommodate this new, massive change in my life. It's things that I hadn't even thought about before; stupid stuff like trying to plan dates, navigating how to introduce them to people, and doing things as a three that would normally only involve two people. Previously insignificant things that now feel like a field of landmines, formerly a peaceful meadow that I didn't even have to think about. That I took for granted.

"What's got ye so pent up, lassie?" Johnny asks softly. His hand reaches out from the backseat, the warm, familiar weight of it coming to rest on my shoulder.

I lean into his touch, allowing myself to bask in the casual display of affection for a moment before letting out a pitiful huff.

"Everything."

"Explain."

"I... I-" Be honest. "John might hate me after this. He might think that I set out to make this happen; that I'm compromising the integrity of your taskforce by being with you the way I am. By being a distraction. And he might... he might see me differently when he finds out about the three of us being together." I can sense Simon gearing up to protest in my peripheral vision, so I stare straight ahead through the windscreen as I carry on, unwavering. "And then there's the fact that Winnie is going to be home from France soon, and you're going to leave and go back to work. You won't even let me go to the barracks, so when you're between deployments we'll have to live under Winnie's feet - which isn't fair to her or us. And it's going to kill me inside when you go no contact... what if I really need to talk to you and you aren't available? And I won't be able to make it better by talking to John either, because he'll be gone too, or he won't be talking to me..."

My rambling comes to an abrupt halt; palms clammy as I desperately gulp down a breath of fresh air. The car is silent save for the faint hum of the engine. Johnny's fingers lightly squeeze my shoulder, offering some much-needed reassurance. The contact grounds me; centres my thoughts.

"Well," Si began, clearing his throat. I might have been imagining it, but I could've sworn that there was a subtle shake to his voice. A hint of nervousness. "Maybe the three of us could look for a place together? Close enough to the apartment that you can visit Winslow whenever you want."

My heart grew two sizes inside my chest.

The steely, aloof Simon "Ghost" Riley himself was suggesting that we get a place of our own. A home. Something that the two of them never had before now. Before me.

It takes a considerable effort on my part not to tear up, especially as I spot the road marker for the beer garden on the narrow country lane up ahead.

"You would do that for me?" I ask, tone brimming with barely-contained emotion.

Simon nods, indicating right and easing the car into the car park. Once we're parked up, the engine switched off and stationary, he turns to look over his shoulder at Johnny. I watch them; the look that they share loaded with such love and mutual understanding.

It's not like it was before. I don't feel that undercurrent of jealousy that I used to - there's no cold, ugly thing clawing inside my chest. No; I know that I'm included in that affection. I'm not an outsider anymore.

And it makes me feel ashamed.

Ashamed for getting so caught up in how everyone else might perceive this. Ashamed for being self-conscious of something so beautiful and pure and sweet that the three of us share.

"'ah think we should all get on the internet tonight and start lookin'," Johnny adds, running the calloused pad of his thumb along the dip of my collarbone. "Start gettin' some viewings booked in. I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be on injury leave for, lassie, and I'll be happier knowing that we're all set up before Si and I leave."

"I've already marked some places for you two to look at," a gravelly voice with a Manchester accent states.

My head whips around to Simon and the jerk of Johnny's hand on my shoulder tells me that he's done the same. Sure enough, Simon's cheeks and ears are tinged with a fierce blush, hazel eyes refusing to directly meet my gaze.

When he notices our attention, he looks up, scowling at both of us. "What?"

Johnny laughs, only earning him an even sharper glare and a growled oh fuck off.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Si," I say, trying to keep the amusement out of my tone in case he thinks I'm laughing at him. Because that went down so well last time. "It's cute."

Si's expression turns deadpan as he looks at me.

Admittedly, that may have been the wrong thing to say to him - my 6'7, scar-flecked army lieutenant.

Hoping to quell some of that ire, I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward in my seat, closing the distance between us in to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. If anything, it only makes him blush harder.

Johnny whines from the back. "Where's mine? 'ah do adorable shit all the time."

Before he can complain any more, I lean back over the centre console and kiss him too. But - ever the crafty one - he snakes a hand around the back of my neck, tangling his fingers into the loose strands of my hair and angling my head as he deepens the kiss.

Ignoring the impatient huff from Si, Johnny presses something - a button hidden along the edge of my chair - and the backrest thuds down, landing on the vacant seat beside him. With strong hands and practiced ease, the Scotsman hauls me from the front passenger side and onto his lap. Calloused hands find purchase on my thighs as I scramble to straddle him.

Every worry melts away as Johnny's warm, rough hands slip under the skirt of my summer dress, blunt nails raking over the skin of my ass and hips, sending a shiver skittering down my spine. I groan, arching into him - savouring the moment.

"Can't you do this later?" Simon grumbles. My head snaps over my shoulder to see him, watching us intently, eyes hazed with that far-away, hungry look that he gets whenever he's turned on.

"Jealous because you can't fit back here too?" I ask teasingly, punctuating it with a drawn-out grind of my hips against the front of Johnny's faded jeans.

Johnny whines and Simon's eyes flare with the challenge.

"Trust me, I can," he managed with gritted teeth. Just as he unclips his seatbelt - expression filled with lustful promise - his phone pings with a message alert. One quick glance has him groaning for an entirely different reason that Johnny. "We'll finish this tonight at home. Gaz said Price is wondering where we are."

I swallow, all of that worry tumbling back in without the promise of Johnny and Simon to distract me.

"Fucksake!" Johnny complains, lifting his hands to drag them down his face. "Yer tellin' me 'm gonna have to look my boss in the eye, telling him 'm fuckin' Tali with a tent in my trousers?"

Simon grins, a wicked, brutal thing. "Yep. And I'm going to be smiling the whole time."

Gaz has good taste.

I thought the beer garden would just be a bog-standard grass-and-some-benches type of thing, but I'm pleasantly surprised by the sight waiting for us when we step out of the open patio doors at the side of the pub. Half of the space is decked, with a railing and steps leading down to a semi-circle of wooden, shed-like structures, housing tables with built-in benches. There are still normal tables, scattered around in the open space with large, white parasols to offer shade from the blaring sun, but I can't see John or Gaz amongst the people there.

"They're in shed number five apparently," Simon supplies, sliding his phone into his back pocket. He points in the direction of a shed off to the side, the wooden siding painted a mockingly cheerful shade of yellow.

I look to him and Johnny in turn before making my best attempt at schooling my features into a smile. The flash of concern in Johnny's eyes is enough to tell me that it looks as pitiful as it feels.

Placing those large hands of his on my shoulders, he smiles down at me. I want to kiss him, but I know that Gaz and John have probably already seen us - watching from the open doorway of the shed. It's a risk I can't afford to take right now.

"Lassie," Johnny says in his most soothing voice, hands running up and down the lengths of my arms before stopping at my wrists, lacing my fingers with his. "You'll be fine. We'll be there the whole time; we won't leave ya alone out there." Then, ducking down until his lips brush against the shell of my ear, he adds, "We'll make it up to ye tonight."

When he pulls away, a smug, cocky half-smile on his face, I'm blushing furiously - cheeks burning with heat.

Si takes one look at me and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Brilliant. Can you two not keep it in your pants for five minutes? Behave, children."

With that, he marches off ahead, leaving us to trail behind at a much more leisurely pace. A few feet away from the doorway to the bright yellow shed, I untangle my fingers from Johnny's, wanting to keep some sense of normalcy for just a little while before I have to break the news.

A quiet, cowardly part of me wants one of the boys to do it for me - even though we all agreed that it was better coming from me.

Sucking in another deep breath, I relax my face and step into the shed behind Johnny. Gaz and John are on one side the table, Simon and Johnny naturally slotting in beside one another on the other. Before I can sit down next to John - the side where there is slightly more space - Johnny grabs onto my hand, guiding me down into the tiny gap between him and the shed wall.

I giggle as he jostles himself, bumping his hip against Si's repeatedly in an attempt to give me some more room, and I look up just in time to catch the tail-end of a glance between John and Gaz. My throat dries out.

"So... how are the ribs healing, Soap?" John asks, dark eyes homing in on the Scotsman.

Johnny squirms in his seat. "Yeah. I guess they're healing just fine, Captain. I've been doing all the exercises physio 've told me to do."

"And he's had this one at his beck and call," Simon adds, nodding his head in my direction. He's wearing a black surgical mask to conceal the lower half of his face, but I can tell by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that he's smiling. "Perfect little nurse, she is."

I grumble, wanting desperately to hit him. "Ironic, given you're the one with the nurse outfit."

There's a pause as Gaz breaks down, his silent, shaking laughter devolving into a full-blown laughing fit. John tries in vain to hide his mouth behind his hand, but the quivering of his broad shoulders betrays his own amusement.

He looks up, offering me a kind smile. It's so warm that it makes my chest ache. "I'm... I'm not even going to ask," the stoic captain says.

"It's not a nurse outfit," Si protests, deadpan.

I flash him a saccharine sweet - if slightly vicious - smile. "Of course. Whatever you say, Nurse Riley."

He's bright red now. If he were any more embarrassed, he'd be steaming from the ears. "Johnny thought that it would be a funny joke gift for..."

"Don't ye worry, love," Johnny says, joining in on the light-hearted ribbing with zero remorse, "we won't judge ye."

We carry on laughing, joking around with one another. Gaz talks about his family and John tells the boys about something that someone they work with - a woman called Kate - told him the other week. Something about an upcoming mission that they might be assigned.

Before long, Johnny announces to the table that he's thirsty, making me stand up so that he and Si can clamber out of the shed. Despite his protests, they drag Gaz out with them too - insisting that they need a hand carrying the drinks back out. Which is bullshit.

I look up at John. For the first time all day, we're alone.

It's now or never.

"John... there's something that I've been wanting to talk to you about," I start, voice shaking slightly. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears as my fight or flight response kicks in; my skin feeling too tight over my bones.

Immediately, there's a look of concern forms on his face, his brow lowering and making him look every bit his age. "What's wrong? I knew you seemed too quiet - have the boys said something to upset you?"

I shake my head firmly. "No. They haven't done anything. It's- um, it's something that I've done, actually."

Instead of asking any more questions, John just sits back, head resting against the wooden siding as he watches me with those dark, observant eyes. It reminds me of the day we first met - when he came to tell me about Alex; the way that he just sat and watched. The way he listened.

"I'm seeing Johnny."

John's face lights up with a look of complete and utter surprise.

"And Simon."

His jaw slackens. After a moment of stumbling over his words, he says, "Oh... okay."

Now it's my turn to be confused. "Okay?" I repeat slowly, turning the words over in my mouth.

He nods. "Okay."

My eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"

John lets out something between a sigh and an exhale, lifting a hand to rub his temples. A beat of silence passes. Then another. "Tali, I trust your judgement. Have done ever since I got to know you," he says, every word measured and considered, spoken in that low, soft voice of his. "You're a smart woman; you know what you're doing. Acting like you don't... that would be doing you a disservice. And I know the boys. It'd take a very special person to get them to open up, and - if anyone - I think that person would be you."

My chest squeezes.

Acceptance. This is acceptance.

Not hatred, or disgust, or anger.

"I... thank you, John," I say, my voice coming out as barely more than a whisper. Heat pricks at my eyes. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

John's eyes glitter. "You can tell me anything, kid. Nothing you say will ever change anything between us."

When Johnny and Simon return with Gaz and two trays of drinks not even five minutes later, I'm tucked into John's side, his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders as I sniffle into his t-shirt.

"Everything alright?" Simon asks, eyes locked onto my tear-stained face.

I beam up at him, flashing him the widest, brightest grin I can muster. Feeling lighter than I have for a while now, I say, "Everything's perfect." Turning my attention to Gaz, I add, "Hey, Gaz?"

Slotting himself into the seat beside me, he swipes a pint off of the tray and hums in acknowledgement.

"I'm in a relationship with Johnny. And Simon."

Gaz hums again. "Figures."

Simon leans forward then, eyes practically popping out of his head. "What do you mean figures?"

He snorts out a laugh and, with a playful glimmer in those big dark eyes, he says, "Well, it would take a saint to put up with a grumpy old bastard like you. And Tali's no saint. So I figured she was getting some pretty good dick to-"

"That'll do," Simon barks, putting a swift end to that line of thought.

When the rest of us finally stop laughing, we settle in to enjoy our drinks and soak up an afternoon in the sun.

a/n: hey guys! so this was it: our longest chapter yet :) in the next few days, I'm going to be making some changes to the layout of this account - adding a navigation page in preparation for releasing some other non-Double the Love content etc etc. - see you again very soon, lapetitelapin :)

64 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

Note

Would I be the asshole for asking my suicidal girlfriend not to vent with me? First ask here, be warned for heavy topics about the above situation. Putting an emoji for easy finding. 🦐

I am a polyamorous person (22nb) with my long distance girlfriend (22f) of about 1 year. I love her deeply, and we have known each other for a long time when I used to go to school in person with her. I also have an in person queer platonic partner (22nb) who lives with me currently and has been with me for about 3 years. Both of my partners are suicidal and self harm, though the partner who is living with me has luckily seemed to improve a lot through being able to spend time with someone who cares for them constantly. My girlfriend...sadly has not gotten the same chance, since she moved long before we got together and has only her family to keep her stable (who have proven before this point that they are pretty terrible support systems, when they actively encouraged her self harming to become worse).

Luckily, I have had this rodeo before due to a majority of my friends struggling with this sort of problem, and when she began saying things in my dms that pointed towards depression and suicidality, I was quick to try to help her get into therapy. Whether or not this therapist is really the best is sort of iffy, as the therapist hasn't worked with her on a lot despite over a month of them working together, so...she hasn't gotten much work towards helping to change things and has felt somewhat stuck. I know she needs to probably get a new therapist, but due to not having insurance at the moment it's not an easy situation to just change. Since things have not gotten to improve, she...has still felt horrible most days will come to me in DMs to tell me how bad it is. Which, you know, should be fine, but it's the *way* she talks about it-- it's in a very vent heavy, far too much triggering information, Everything Is Horrible and there is no way to fix it and I should Die, way.

I have learned boundaries in regards to my own mental health due to just how often I have encountered things, and luckily, my other partner is great about it! They don't talk about their issues with suicidality all that much which can make me worried at times, but when they *do*, it's very much a situation of them bringing up how they feel and then us moving forwards to do something distracting or something that will help them. Instead of an info dump of Horrible Information That Makes Me Fear For Their Life, it's just. Moving to make sure they're doing better and changing things, identifying why certain feelings are feeling bad. But with my girlfriend, these topics come on suddenly without warning, are spoken in such a way that I feel like 1. I can't move on or change anything to help 2. I don't have a way to respond that will end up doing anything but make her feel worse. I feel at a complete loss of how to handle these things that she's just throwing on me. I haven't mentioned yet to her how bad these ventings make me feel because I'm worried it would make her internalize it and worsen her issues, though I know I do probably need to communicate it with her. I feel that she may just not be quite as mature as my other partner in how to handle feelings like this yet(most likely due to lack of support systems), and I WANT her to be able to talk about her feelings. I'm her girlfriend, after all, a little bit of emotional labor is always going to be a part of supporting people that close to you. Just...not in a way that will end up ultimately making both me and her feel like shit, and get her in a worse direction than before.

She eventually will be moving in with us next year, and I am wondering if I should try to wait to talk about it until then when she has more of a support to lean against, or should I try to figure it out right now. Right now could leave her...hurt and much more vulnerable, which would be a real risk considering the scenario. Would I be the asshole for telling her that she needs to work on how she talks about these topics, and that I can't have her continuing to put her emotions on me like this?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw #self harm cw

126 notes · View notes

munchmemes · 5 months

Text

florence + the machine lyrics, high as hope edition

A SIDE

❛ i'm so high, i can see an angel. ❜ ❛ i hear your heart beating in your chest. ❜ ❛ the world slows 'till there's nothing left. ❜ ❛ in those heavy days in june when love became an act of defiance. ❜ ❛ hold onto each other. ❜ ❛ you were broken-hearted and the world was, too. ❜ ❛ i was beginning to lose my grip. i always held it loosely but this time i admit, i felt it really start to slip. ❜ ❛ at seventeen, i started to starve myself. ❜ ❛ i thought that love was a kind of emptiness. ❜ ❛ at least, i understood then the hunger i felt & i didn't have to call it loneliness. ❜ ❛ we all have a hunger. ❜ ❛ don't let it get you down, you're the best thing i've seen. ❜ ❛ we never found the answer but we knew one thing. ❜ ❛ in that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me. ❜ ❛ how could anything bad ever happen to you? ❜ ❛ you make a fool of death with your beauty. ❜ ❛ i thought that love was in the drugs. ❜ ❛ the more i took, the more it took away and i could never get enough. ❜ ❛ for a moment, i forgot to worry. ❜ ❛ i thought it doesn't get better than this. ❜ ❛ there can be nothing better than this. ❜ ❛ the world is at your fingertips. ❜ ❛ everything i ever did was just another way to scream your name. over and over and over again. ❜ ❛ i want a space to watch things grow. ❜ ❛ did i dream too big? do i have to let it go? ❜ ❛ what if one day there is no such thing as snow? ❜ ❛ i don't know anything. except that green is so green. ❜ ❛ there's a special kind of sadness that seems to come with spring. ❜ ❛ you need a big god. big enough to hold your love. ❜ ❛ you keep me up at night but to my messages, you do not reply. ❜ ❛ you know i still like you the most. ❜ ❛ you'll always be my favourite ghost. ❜ ❛ sometimes i think it's getting better and then it gets much worse. ❜ ❛ is it just part of the process? jesus christ, it hurts. ❜ ❛ though i know i should know better, i can make this work. ❜ ❛ shower your affection, let it rain on me. ❜ ❛ are you deeply sleeping or are you still awake? ❜ ❛ a good friend told me you've been staying out so late. ❜ ❛ be careful, my darling. be careful what it takes. ❜ ❛ from what i've seen so far, the good ones always seem to break. ❜ ❛ i can feel your anger from way across the sea. ❜ ❛ i was kissing strangers, i was causing such a scene. ❜ ❛ oh, the heart, it hides such unimaginable things. ❜ ❛ i want you so badly but you could be anyone. ❜ ❛ hold me down, i'm so tired now. ❜ ❛ leave me where i lie. ❜ ❛ i feel like i'm about to fall, the room begins to sway. ❜ ❛ i can hear the sirens but i cannot walk away. ❜ ❛ i thought i was flying but maybe i'm dying tonight. ❜

B SIDE

❛ i'm sorry i ruined your birthday. ❜ ❛ i guess i could go back, try and make my parents proud. ❜ ❛ i don't think it would be too long before i'm drunk again. ❜ ❛ this is the only thing i've ever had any faith in. ❜ ❛ [NAME], i don't say it enough. you are so loved. ❜ ❛ all the walls were melting and there were mermaids everywhere. hearts flew from my hands and i could see people's feelings. ❜ ❛ and you, you were the one i treated the worst. only because you loved me the most. ❜ ❛ we haven't spoken in a long time. i think about it sometimes. ❜ ❛ i don't know who i was back then and i hope and hope i would never treat anyone like that again. ❜ ❛ oh [NAME], you've always been my north star. ❜ ❛ i have to tell you something, i'm still afraid of the dark. ❜ ❛ do you understand that with every seed you sow you make this cold world beautiful? ❜ ❛ you told me all doors are open to the believer. ❜ ❛ i believe her. ❜ ❛ how's that working out for you, honey? do you feel loved? ❜ ❛ i drink too much coffee and i think of you often. ❜ ❛ are you afraid? 'cause i'm terrified. ❜ ❛ you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love. ❜ ❛ i believe in you and in our hearts we know the truth. ❜ ❛ i believe in love and the darker it gets, the more i do. ❜ ❛ it's just too much, i cannot get you close enough. ❜ ❛ a hundred arms, a hundred years, you can always find me here. ❜ ❛ lord, don't let me break this, let me hold it lightly. ❜ ❛ we have no need to fight. we raise our voices and let our hearts take flight. ❜ ❛ my held breath fills the room with love. ❜ ❛ it hurts in ways i can't describe. ❜ ❛ my heart bends and breaks so many, many times and is born again with each sunrise. ❜ ❛ we're sorry, we thought you didn't care. ❜ ❛ how does it feel now you've scratched that itch? ❜ ❛ hubris is a bitch. ❜ ❛ i feel nervous in a way that can't be named. ❜ ❛ we're a family pulled from a flood. ❜ ❛ it was so far to fall but it didn't hurt at all. ❜ ❛ i've always been in love with you. could you tell it from the moment that i met you? ❜ ❛ they told me that they loved me then ghosted me again. ❜ ❛ the older i get i find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject. ❜ ❛ i must confess, i did it all for myself. ❜ ❛ the loneliness never left me. i always took it with me. ❜ ❛ the loneliness never left me. i always took it with me but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company. ❜ ❛ no chorus will come in. no ballad will be written. it will be entirely forgotten. ❜ ❛ and if tomorrow it's all over, at least we had it for a moment. ❜ ❛ things seem so unstable but for a moment we were able to be still. ❜ ❛ this will be entirely forgotten. ❜

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence starters #lyrics rp starters #lyrics starters #lyrics rp meme #roleplay meme #lyrics meme #ask meme #tag memes

110 notes · View notes

brokenorbornthatway · 1 year

Text

So when are we going to start to address the very real harm that the anti ship discourse, as well as anti para rhetoric, does to people with POCD?

Do you have any idea what it's like to obsess over the fear that you might be a ped0? I have literally spent days basically non-stop analysing anything I ever might have done that would make me a ped0 with my greatest reassurance to myself being that "I can't be, because if I was I'd kill myself." (If you know anything about OCD, you know reassurances don't actually help. When I inevitably found more reasons to convince myself I am a P, the line to off myself only sounded more and more like the reasonable solution)

In my rational brain I know that fiction isn't reality and I don't deserve to fucking die over reading fic. I never used to have a problem with problematic fic I read because it was completely divorced from reality to me. I knew that it was completely fiction, even more than that it was further removed from reality because it was fanfiction, and knowing that nobody was being actually hurt meant I could read it without questioning my morals. Reading problematic fic didn't even pop up as a worry when the pocd would come back because I knew that fanfiction isn't reality and what you read in fiction has no basis on what you like in reality.

And I still know that's true when it comes to other people, i know that people who read and write problematic fic aren't intently ped0s, but the anti discourse has fucked me up. Ever since seeing people argue that reading or writing problematic ships means that you are secretly a ped0, my POCD has latched on to it and it makes me want to fucking die. I can barely engage with any media now without fear of commiting a fucking thought crime which will prove that I'm a monster and going to commit an actual crime. It's hard to be around anyone for fear that they'll also think I should die. I've gotten so much worse in the past couple years and so much of that is because of stupid fucking anti discourse.

And then there's the anti para rhetoric that exists fucking everywhere. Seeing people say "all ped0s and zoos should kts" has made me so sick. My ocd tells me that I'm actually just a ped0 in denial and should die because of it and people saying that all ped0s, regardless of if they have or would ever offend, should just die fuels the voice that tells me to commit slip and slide more than anything else.

For fucking decades the only people I've spoken to about this are my system members out of debilitating shame and fear and self loathing. Contemplating at what point the thoughts actually mean I should just give in and end it.

There are no such thing as thought crimes.

Reading problematic fic literally hurts no one.

Telling people that they're ped0s with no proof because they read something causes real harm.

#pocd #proship #pro para #anti anti

403 notes · View notes

slutforalastor · 4 months

Text

Say It With A Smile, Part 1

You'd always considered yourself an unremarkable sinner. You hadn't done much of anything to really deserve damnation, save for your lack of penitence. In terms of Pascal's wager, you'd gotten the worst outcome. Or at least, what you knew of Hell had made you figure it would be the worst. In reality, there were things about your eternal afterlife that could be worse, although there were many things that could be better, as well.

Trying to get away from the things that could be better, the murder, cannibalism, trafficking, and general malaise of the street, was part of what had attracted you to the Hotel. Sinners might've turned their noses up at the idea of needing to be reformed, but you'd never been much for vice. You had your fun, did your experimenting, but settled into the things that helped you forget, which were fortunate enough to not be things that shortened your life expectancy.

Not that you'd lived a full life. There was little romance to your demise; you'd simply been more focused on your phone than on the bus with the faulty brakes squealing its way down the avenue. It happened so quickly that you were still holding your hand a few inches from your face, but now it was painted a soft, sandy grey, your nails sharpened to points.

But that's the past, and at present, you're stooped outside the door of the towering hotel, the marquee blinking its welcome in bright flashbulbs. The knocker, shaped like a key with one ever-watchful eye, beckons to you. Time to get on with your afterlife. A few raps against the door, and you hear a commotion, several voices clamoring ever closer to the entryway.

The door swings open, the Princess of Hell beaming at you, and some of her entourage piled behind her, trying to see who's come to call. "Oh my Gosh, please tell me you're here to be redeemed!" she squeals, immediately grabbing your hand and yanking you into the foyer. For how impressive it was on the outside, it's even more impressive within. The ceiling goes up higher than you thought possible, a grand staircase standing in symmetry on either side of the welcome area. A demon, winged and catlike, rests his elbow against the bar, talking to a spider-like sinner in a stool, with one of their four hands wrapped around a drinking glass. They're the only ones that haven't made a crowd around you. In your immediate vicinity, so close as to make you wonder if they're going to attempt to assimilate into you, is the Princess, who breathlessly introduces herself as Charlie, and lets you know how exciting it is to have another member, how much you're going to love it here, and the rattled-off names of the other guests and staff, spoken too quickly for you to have any chance of remembering. Another demon, muted gray and deep blue, a red x mark over where one of her eyes should be, pulls you to the side, Charlie continuing to ramble before bursting into a song and dance everyone seems to be ignoring.

"Sorry about Charlie, she's… very happy to have another guest. I'm Vaggie. Let me actually introduce you to the rest of the crew."

Vaggie guides you from demon to colorful demon, letting them introduce themselves, some shaking hands, others offering a raised hand in greeting, and one in particular obsessively dusting the dirt and caked-on blood off your shoes, muttering to herself.

"There's one more somewhere around here, although honestly I wouldn't mind if he didn't-"

"Didn't want to wait a second longer to greet our newest guest?" a crackling voice finished for her, the demon it belonged to forming up from a shadow in the middle of the floor. The cloud of black slowly giving shape to a deer-like man, appointed overwhelmingly in red and smiling overwhelmingly wide.

"Ah, Alastor, I was wondering when you'd join us."

"Come now, my dear, never underestimate the value of making a dramatic entrance," he countered, whirling his staff around his hand before settling it back into place with a decisive tap. He turns his focus to you, his eyes narrowing and his smile developing a few additional angles. "Alastor, just Alastor, so lovely to make your acquaintance." You offer your hand to him to shake, and he gives it a firm squeeze, perhaps a little harder than manners would dictate, releasing it after a single motion. "I'm something of the host around here; although you can't fault Charlie for enthusiasm, it'd take her a whole day just to tell you about the room we're in right now, and a hotel lives and dies by its schedule, you know."

"We'd love to give you a tour," Vaggie offers, Charlie's musical number having just entered the poignant, reflecting chorus.

"'We'? Ahaha, Vaggie, someone needs to make sure Charlie remembers to breathe. I'd be more than happy to get our new guest familiar with the hotel. Follow me, little one." Alastor speaks with such animated confidence that you can't help but do as he asks, letting him lead you up to the stairs and into the deeper recesses of your new home. ----- Also on AO3!

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #lord forgive me but I demand satisfaction

106 notes · View notes

eluxcastar · 9 months

Text

A guide to surviving the House of the Hearth

── ୨୧：arlecchino & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: as the newest addition to the ever-growing house of the hearth, it is important that you are very acquainted with the rules of living there and what it means for your life from now on, for better and for worse

୨୧﹑genre :: I still don't know what this is

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, reader doesn't explicitly show up but is referenced as if they are being spoken to, reader is implied to be mute

୨୧﹑words :: 1k

I promise you honeys I am not dead but I did like go through the wringer a bit like I was PROPER living the a/n life I like got sick for a whole week then I fell and slid on concrete and it was a whole thing yet somehow my glasses stayed on?? anyway you did not come to hear about what an accident waiting to happen I am have this food

I started working on two separate fics that require the House of the Hearth recently which means that I had to come up with hcs for it. So, little one, I bring you the rulebook on how to survive your stint in the Tenth Harbinger's orphanage.

How did you even find your way there? Well, you were far too young to remember it, but it was something that caused Arlecchino to find you, uneager to be seen and hardly enthusiastic about conversation. Somehow she had managed to make herself seem more inviting than the underside of the bed you were hiding under, soft and inviting—a gentle guiding light holding out her hand to lead you to safety.

Rule one. While all children may be messy, they are not to leave their messes about. Any toys should be packed away, any spills should be cleaned, as should any utensils that happen to find their way into the hands of children. Nothing should be dirtier than it was when you found it, even if that means asking one of the matrons how to get blood out of fabric and the hardwood floors.

Rule two. You're to eat as much of your food as you can at the table. Not liking it is hardly an excuse, especially if you won't even try it. Receiving food at all is a luxury for orphans who would otherwise be uncared for and on their own. Picky eating will only get you in trouble. Even if you don't like it, stomaching it with a grimace is a break in your composure that will only be a detriment to you in the future.

Rule three. All children should be blessed with the ability to read and write. It is just as valuable as the skill to fight. Silent communication is very useful, also a reason to be familiar with sign language. The importance of knowledge should not be understated, because once you learn to read and write, you have access to anything and everything in literature, even things people don't want you to know as you peek quietly over their shoulder.

Rule four. It's a pivotal skill to know how to play nice even in the face of spats and disagreements with your playmates. If you can't, people won't like you, and you'll be all alone. Everyone is family, and family puts each other first, even if not related by blood. You have no family anymore and are in most desperate need of one. Everything else was just like you once, and they're always happy to accept a new little bird like you.

Rule five. Honestly is important, but only to the right people. Outsiders don't know the luxury of the House of the Hearth the way those inside do. They don't know how wonderful your childhood is now compared to before and they're raring to send you back to that. You shouldn't allow anyone to learn too much and shouldn't let someone ignorant of that speak on your behalf. The people should only know lies, while the matrons should know everything.

Rule six. Your bedtime is the same as everyone else's, and you are to sleep when told. A good night's rest is important when you spend the next day hard at work running and jumping. You need lots of energy to lug heavy weaponry around and it's always nice to have a bit more rest to get you through the day.

Rule seven. Slackers who don't so their chores are sent to timeout, and there no joy in timeout. No fidgeting, no sitting, no noises out of you, even the ones you make when you need something. You will have to stand in the corner and wait until a matron decides you're ready to cooperate and contribute like everyone else. But you won't need to be warned that way, will you?

Rule eight. Playtime is a gruelling thing sometimes and that's good. Children push, and adults are not easy to face. The world you will grow into will not be kind to you, and in return you mustn't be kind to it either. You should know how to handle yourself, and how to survive when the situation is against you, especially if you can't call for help. Those who can't play shouldn't expect to know how to live in a world that doesn't want them.

Rule nine. Fatui affairs are not for the eyes of children, and you shouldn't stick your nose in them. Once you know too much, there's no way to have your little mind, and the consequences are…well, you shouldn't listen to how bad it can be, even that is more than enough to scare you. You won't break that one, will you?

Rule ten. It is because of Father that you are able to live this life and treasure your childhood, and her word is more important than anything else. Arlecchino is your overseer and the one who enables you to live such a spoiled life as you do now that you live in the House of the Hearth. You must repay her generosity handsomely.

Children who don't make the cut are sent off to the Doctor, children who disobey the rules are sent off to the Doctor, and children who aren't grateful for the new lives they've been given are sent off to the Doctor and it is not to get a checkup. You don't want that, do you?

Arlecchino is a lenient Harbinger by the standard of the Fatui, generous enough to believe that every child has its own uses, even those with what would seem like drawbacks to the untrained eye at a glance. The children must give back in return, and you will surely be doing a lot of giving from now on.

#✦ — headcanons.#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

130 notes · View notes

dyed-red · 6 months

Note

happy ww! <3 if sam and dean don't get together until they are older, what do you think that looks like for them? how they come to realize their feelings, how they act on/address them, how they even begin to broach the subject with the other?

I have this view of late seasons sam and dean as incredibly settled and comfortable with themselves and each other in this regard, in a way that simply is not / was not possible when they were younger. Both because youth is tumultuous and learning to be okay with yourself takes time and experience, but also because your first apocalypse is a cataclysm, and your tenth is old hat.

Not only that, but through their various journeys together, particularly after s8 when we see them resolve their "infidelities" and commit to one other (in holy matrimony in that church), they have a level of trust in their bond that is different. It's tested in s9 with the lying/possession and then the attempt at distance following that, but reaffirmed from the s9 finale all through s10 with sam's willingness to damn the world (and die himself) for dean.

Which means that if they don't get together until they're "older", which I'm going to interpret here as late seasons or at least after s10, then i think it looks like a weirdly healthy and comfortable journey given that it's fraternal incest with enmeshed codependency and the fate of the world as collateral damage.

in their earlier years, there's this real fear of 'losing' each other, which comes in many forms but which includes the potential to do something so egregious as to alienate themselves from the other. this means that there is this possibility, real or imagined, that hangs over them, that if they admit or act on this (potentially unrequited because neither is testing if the other feels the same) attraction, they could damage their brotherhood. they have something huge to lose and feel a real potential to lose it. even if they trust the other won't abandon them over an attraction they didn't necessarily choose if it were to be discovered and unrequited -- and that trust itself is hard and fraught -- then it would still complicate and disgust and alienate, or so they would be likely to believe, at least in this mental scenario of them feeling attracted but not acting on it until they're older.

i suppose there are other scenarios, where they don't realize or experience that attraction yet, although that feels unlikelier to me, and it makes more sense to my mind that the attraction wouldn't suddenly manifest when they're older, but would be there the whole time, if latent and not even that important (because nothing is so important as their bond, and sexual and/or romantic attraction just isn't the most critical thing about how they feel toward each other).

but by a certain point, they've done so much worse to and for each other, and been through so much together and for each other, that worrying about this as if it's a huge dark evil secret would eventually start to feel almost childish. it would still enervate while hidden and unspoken, but it wouldn't feel like this damning thing in the same way, and i think would become an unspoken but obvious understanding between them.

meaning that by the time it slips from unspoken to spoken, it would be almost incidental or accidental, a quirk of 'oh we're acknowledging that now?' and a tension of 'are we sliding into that territory for real?'. It would still involve some potentially nervewracking navigating, but less on the "oh shit he knows oh fuck" side of exposure, and more on the "so what the fuck does this look like and is it worth it to explore knowing it could go wrong or is it better to keep things how we have them know, which is pretty damn good actually". It's a more mature and complex discussion, even if a silent and internal discussion, and a little less "throw overselves over this cliff and see what happens".

i like late season domestic era first time. i like to think that in a certain way, it feels like a foregone conclusion to them, and a bit like coming home, and a bit like "finally". <3

#happy wincest wednesday #i'm a week late answering this but shhh it's still a wednesday #wincest #domestic #married bros #look they are married after s8 i don't make the rules #it just might take them a little while to figure that out themselves #nothing wrong with that

63 notes · View notes